


Ray of Light

by chocobogoddess



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, PoC, Romance, Sexual Tension, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobogoddess/pseuds/chocobogoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt needs a date to a celebratory gala, and Vanessa knows just the person.  Newt/OC, but she's not your typical OC. Besides, who doesn't want to read about the long, slow seduction of Newton Geiszler?  [Also, if you're reading this and you like it, do tell me...I feel a little lonely here!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moonlight

The Gottleibs' manor is exactly what Newt pictures when he thinks of old British shows, all manicured lawns and gravel half-circle drives and elegant brickwork. Vanessa comes out to meet him herself, hugely pregnant, but smiling at him like he's her favorite brother. "I am so glad you're here," she says with real warmth as a pair of young men politely take his luggage indoors. Newt finds his hands suddenly free, so he clears his throat and carefully embraces his hostess.

"You look great," he says, and means it. Vanessa's long career as a model has given her poise that not even her third trimester can take away. The fear he saw in her the last time they met—before the end of the Kaiju invasion—has been replaced by a sense of calm and contentment. It's as if the whole world held its breath, only letting it go when the breach was sealed, allowing life to continue as normal. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course." She slips her arm through his, though she towers over him, and escorts him inside. "I couldn't believe it when Hermann said you were planning on staying at a hotel in London. You should know you're always welcome here." Her eyes sparkle, and even her glasses cannot hide her pleasure at seeing him again. "It's not every day that one gets to meet the King, you know."

Newt pastes on a smile, and Vanessa, being Vanessa, notices at once.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she says quietly as they move through the house. The hall is clad in dark wood but the room to which she takes him—a study—is lined with windows that take advantage of every scrap of light on the south wall. The other three walls are covered in books. "I've met him twice myself, formally, not to mention the many times Queen Catherine has attended shows in which I've walked." She pats his arm as they stop by one of the high-backed wing chairs. "You will be fine. Ah, here's Hermann."

The occupant of the chair glances sharply around, then stands painfully. With pursed lips and an expression of cool disdain, he extends his hand. "Doctor Geiszler—"

"Hermann!" Vanessa sends him a scandalized look. "Is that any way to greet your dearest friend?"

At first Hermann snorts derisively, but then he has the grace to give his sheepish smile, which Newt recognizes at once. "Oh, all right. Hellew, Newton. Took you long enough to get here."

And just like that, Newt feels like he's come home.

***

After a night spent in a giant bed in one of the dozen guest rooms in this maze of a house, Newt ambles down for breakfast to find Hermann already reading something in the study. Newt throws himself into a sprawl across one of the leather sofas opposite his friend, one leg slung over the side. Hermann's breakfast sits untouched on a tray nearby, so Newt snags a piece of buttered toast and takes a bite. "Why don't you ever ask your wife to set me up with one of her friends?"

Hermann sends a disapproving glance at Newt over the top edge of his book. "Because her friends all have good taste," he says dryly. "Besides, you're half as tall as the shortest one of them. You'd look ridiculous." His lips purse in what passes for a smile, one that softens and changes when Vanessa appears in the doorway. At once the book is forgotten. He snatches up his cane as if to stand in her presence. She waves him off and sinks into the sofa beside Newt, who scrambles to sit properly. A maid— _do people even still HAVE maids,_ Newt wonders—pours her a cup of tea.

Newt tries a direct appeal. "Come on, Vanessa, you gotta know someone, anyone. I can't go stag to this thing. It's a gala. That means there's gonna be press. I can't handle another round of 'is Newton Geiszler in the closet'."

She laughs. Vanessa does nothing without her gentle humor. The smile she gives him is warmer than her husband's. She taps her lips with a finger as she thinks. Lines crinkle at the edges of her eyes. "Actually…I think I do. She'd be a good match for you."

"Really?" Newt sits up in surprise. "I mean, thanks, but...really?"

"Mhmm." Her gaze is benevolent, like a goddess of mercy, but her next words reveal a spark of evil. "She's already coming to our party tonight. You can meet her there."

"Y-you don't think I should, y'know, meet her for coffee or something? In private?" he asks, only to be brushed off by another wave of her hand.

"I'm quite certain you will get along," Vanessa says cryptically. Newt wants to ask her more, but Hermann starts a conversation about the baby and Newt doesn't have the heart to bring the topic back to himself.

He decides to trust in Vanessa. What choice does he have? He's not sure if he should be grateful or terrified.

He decides he's both.

***

That night, the house is wall-to-wall people in expensive suits and couture gowns. Newt shoulders his way around, wishing he was just a little taller so people would actually see him. The crowd thins in the drawing room, where he finds his friends. Hermann looks sharp and smug as he always does, and Vanessa is resplendent in a shimmering silver dress that sets off her dark skin. Newt thinks she looks like a water spirit or something equally fanciful. She notices him and beckons to him.

"Don't you look dashing," she says, smiling in approval at his dinner jacket. Though Hermann smirks at him, Newt feels a little less awkward. Vanessa murmurs something to her husband, excusing herself from the guests they'd been speaking with.

She leans on Newt's arm as she directs him around the room. Everyone there knows her. _Of course they know her,_ he reasons, _she invited them._ But each time he wonders if the next person they approach is her quarry, and each time he's wrong. Once or twice he's disappointed to be wrong.

Until he sees her. He's fairly certain this can't be the woman Vanessa is talking about, because there's no way a six-foot-tall Indian glamazon could be considered 'a good match' for his short, pasty self.

But then Vanessa calls, "Rashmi," and the glamazon turns.

Newt tries very hard not to judge people by their looks. He knows better than most how shallow and meaningless it is, that a physical form has no bearing on the heart of a person, or more importantly, the mind. But there is something about the deep golden skin, the glossy black braid, the wildly curving line from her collarbone to the hem of her red saree that causes an immediate, powerful reaction in him. The feeling intensifies when her gaze slides from Vanessa to him, and her kohl-lined eyes flare in interest.

She joins them with a wide smile that seems as genuine as Vanessa's. "Good evening, Nessa," she says, though her eyes remain on Newt. "And Professor Geiszler, it is such an honor to meet you face to face." Her words come out measured, perfectly enunciated in the manner of a native Hindi-speaker who learned her English from a Briton.

Newt gathers his courage. The force of her attention is like standing in a ray of sunlight. "Professor—wow, no one's called me that in a long time. Uh, it's Newt. Just call me Newt."

The level of delight in her smile increases by a factor of three.

"This is Rashmi Patil," Vanessa says with humor. "I'll just leave you two alone to chat."

Neither of them notice that she's gone.

***

The decision to move outdoors is mutual; the garden walkways have been lit and it's a relatively clear evening. Outdoors, they can talk without shouting over the hubbub of the party. Newt finds them both drinks—he's halfway startled and entirely thrilled to find her waiting for him by the door to the garden—and together they make their way around the winding paths. Rashmi glitters in the low light. The beads on her saree twinkle as she moves, while the moonlight is reflected in the jewels of her earrings and the tiny diamond stud in her nose.

"So, ah," Newt begins, "Vanessa says you're a model." _Stupid, stupid. What an obviously stupid way to start._

Rashmi shrugs. "It's a living. My passions lie elsewhere, but modeling pays the bills. I decided to take advantage of the opportunity while I had it."

"Then where do your—" he almost chokes on the word, "—uh, passions lie?" _So smooth tonight, geez._

"You promise not to laugh?" She sends him an impish, sideways glance. The expression transforms her from a 'model' into a real person, something that causes Newt to begin a whole new round of self-reproach over his mental treatment of her. But what she says next shocks him out of his thoughts. "I always wanted to be on the team that studied Kaiju up close."

He stops in his tracks; Rashmi walks a few steps further and turns. In the dim light all he can see are the shine of her clothes and jewels, and the whites of her eyes, and the white of her teeth in her ever-present smile. "No way. You're…you're a Kaiju fan?"

"Doctor Gottleib calls us 'Kaiju groupies', I believe." She laughs aloud. "I have been following your career for some time. Does it seem so strange?" she asks. "Now you understand why I wanted so very much to meet you, Newt."

The way she says his name, _Nyewt_ , does funny things to his insides.

"I hope you don't think me forward," she goes on, "but I have always wondered. Did you really have all of the Kaiju tattooed onto your skin?"

"Yeah," he says hoarsely, tries again. "Yeah, all of them."

"May I see?"

Still astounded, he rolls up a sleeve, his left one. The sudden exposure to the cool night air makes the hairs on his arm stand on end. In the dim light, the Kaiju is hard to see clearly, but there's enough moonlight to just make it out. "That one's—"

"Yamarashi," she says wonderingly. She traces the design of swirling lines with one fingertip. It makes him shiver, but she doesn't stop, instead covering the image with her hand. It's warm. She meets his gaze. "And the rest?"

"They're…covered."

That mischievous grin is back. "May I see them?"

***


	2. Lamplight

Newt has the bright idea that they'll sneak up to his room unnoticed, where he can show her his ink--that's totally all he's gonna do, totally--but this means first making their way through the party crowd.  More people have since arrived.  It seems like everyone has assembled into the drawing room and the hall and there are way too many eyes to see them climb the stairs like naughty kids caught out after curfew.  He surveys the scene with a mixture of despair and maybe a tiny shred of relief, because then Rashmi won't have to see how out of shape he is under his clothes.

He tries to convince himself that that's why he hasn't gotten laid in months, too.  Right, months--it hasn't quite been two years, technically.  And then there was all the work he did for the PPDC...

_Yeah.  That's totally it._

But when Newt turns to Rashmi with an apology already falling from his lips, he's forced to swallow it.  The tilt of her head and the sideways glance are surprises, as is the waft of perfume he gets when she leans in close.

"I know where the servants' stair is," she murmurs.

So he lets her lead him away from the party and through the parts of the house he's never seen, through the butler's pantry and the kitchens and all the little alcove-y places that these old English homes seem to have in abundance.  He tries not to look at the knowing glances of the serving staff or the chef and his brigade as they pass.

They reach the stair at the back of the house, a little breathless, and Newt finds himself laughing softly along with Rashmi.  Now they really do feel like school children on a lark, except that Newt feels distinctly grown-up in some key respects.

Rashmi gathers her saree in one hand and holds the other out to Newt.  "Come, follow me," she says.  Newt obeys and lets her pull him along in her wake.

The staircase curls upward, tiny and nearly silent.  The air is dense with the scent of old wood.  Their footsteps seem loud and hollow; the soles of her shoes going _tap-tap-tap_ with the louder _clunk-clunk_ of his own just after.  But at the top of the stair, they find themselves in a hall that Newt remembers.

"This is the guest wing," he says quietly. He still must strain to hear the sound of the people below.  "My room is just over there. I've never come up this way."

"It is most useful to know alternate pathways," says Rashmi sagely.  She still holds his hand, her long fingers loosely caught between his.  The hall here is dark, darker than the night outside, but still she glitters in the meagre light from the lamp at the opposite end.  She leans in again, raises their joined hands to touch the bit of ink that peeks up over his shirt collar.  "Now, Newt, I very much want to see the rest of the design."

He clears his throat.  Maybe she really just wants to see the tattoos?  She doesn't seem all that interested in anything more, but leading her into his room--even if it's just a guest room--feels oddly intimate.  He indicates the chair for her to sit, but she chooses the curtained bed instead.

Rashmi kicks off her shoes with great relish, then slides onto the bed hip-first, swinging her long legs up, crossing them delicately at the ankles.  Barefoot, she reclines against the pillows and regards him through heavy-lidded eyes.

Newt feels exposed like this, despite still wearing his dinner jacket, his shirt, his tie.  He's wearing _cufflinks,_ for goodness' sake.  And yet, under that slow gaze, he feels stripped to his core.

He clears his throat again.  "Ah...so…"

She says nothing, but her lips curve.

 _Go for broke, Newt,_ he thinks.  He tugs off the jacket and tosses it onto the rejected chair.  The cufflinks are next, dropped into a tray on the bureau.  But when he goes to remove the tie, she stops him.

"The arms first," she says.  "A little at a time."  She pats the bed beside her.  "I want to see them in detail."

So he sits close enough for her to roll back his sleeves one by one, to examine the fabulously stylized lines and colors of each arm.  He'd been unsure about them at first, once the initial rush of _how cool are Kaiju_ had passed, but over time they have become part of him. They're no longer just images painted on; they _are_ his skin.

And now her fingers trace each line, turning his wrists over to follow the design along his softer, inner arm, rolling back his sleeves further and further to expose more of the image.  She makes quiet exclamations over each new discovery, her delight palpable in the close, still air of the room.

There's only so far she can go, and when she's gone over every inch of his arms, she meets his eyes once more.  "Now the tie.  The collar.  Just a button--let me see it just a little at a time."

He fumbles with the tie.  She helps him.  The folded silk slithers from around his neck and away to land in a puddle on the floor.  Somehow he manages to undo the top button of his shirt; her gasp is the most gratifying sound he's ever heard.

Her gentle touch just below his Adam's apple nearly startles him as she begins her exploration anew.  Newt finds himself answering questions about the Kaiju in a breathless voice.   _That one...it's Onibaba; it attacked Tokyo...and that's Otachi...Scunner…_ She learns every curlicue, every symbol, every pattern with the tips of her fingers.  He doesn't even realize that she has been unbuttoning his shirt until she slides it from his shoulders and sits back against the pillows with a sigh to admire him.

The smile has never left her lips, and suddenly Newt realizes that he wants to know what she tastes like.

"I want to kiss you," he says, aware of how dumb he sounds, but the words are honest.

"I wondered when you would," she replies, and drags a finger up from his belly to his chest, his neck, his chin, drawing him down to her.


	3. Starlight

 

When Newt wakes, it is not his usual pre-dawn jolt of dreaming memory but instead a slow, comfortable awareness.  His glasses are still on, but askew, and he is not alone.

Rashmi slumbers around him.  Not beside him, but with her arms wrapped around him, with her legs entwined in his, with her head on his shoulder.  Her saree has been unwound partway, leaving her shoulders bare.

One of his hands is caught in her hair, which has come out of its braid somewhere along the way.  The other adjusts his glasses while he tries to get his bearings.

Normally, he gets up if he can't sleep.  Though the prices on Kaiju remains have skyrocketed in the past weeks, he spends whatever money he makes on the tidbits that Hannibal Chau sends him.  The work keeps his hands busy and his mind quiet, because if he doesn't have something to do, he starts to worry about his place in a world that doesn't really need him anymore.

His companion stirs, and Newt realizes he's been stroking his fingers through her hair again.  Funny how the pillow of another body has the power to banish the dark uncertainty of the future.  For once, he has no desire to get up to work or read or whatever distraction he might ordinarily dream up.  He just wants to lie there, to admire the way her black hair picks up traces of pale blue from the weak light that filters through the window.  He is lulled by the jasimine scent and the warmth of her skin.

It has been a very, very long time since Newt has shared a bed with someone, and he finds he misses the sensation.  But then Rashmi shifts, murmurs something, sighs.  Newt drifts along on that sigh like a leaf on the water, until he joins her in sleep once more.


	4. Daylight

The next time Newt wakes, he is alone.  The room is flooded with light.  He doesn't want to move.  The bed linens still smell of another person, and for once, Newt feels completely at ease.  It's tempting to stay just where he is, but voices drift up through the floor; the sounds of the housecleaning staff moving about outside his door remind him that he's the only one still abed.

As he swings his legs to the floor, he discovers--to his disappointment--that he is still clothed from the waist down, belt, dress pants, socks and all.  His shirt is crumpled at the foot of the bed and his tie is somewhere on the floor near his shoes.  He retrieves it from the patterned carpet and digs around in his suitcase for something clean and comfortable to wear.

***

Newt wonders if Herman ever leaves that chair, as his friend is sitting in the same place he was the previous morning and the day before that, reading again.  Vanessa sits across from him, one of her stockinged feet on Hermann's lap, and as he reads, he idly rubs the instep.  They look so...comfortable together.  Happy.  Newt feels like he's intruding.

But Vanessa's sudden smile stops him before he can sneak out of the room again.  "Well good morning to you, Newton."  Her grin turns faintly wicked.  "We lost track of you at the party.  I do hope you weren't...too terribly bored."

He clears his throat.  "Bored?" His voice breaks; he tries again.  "Bored? No, no, it was...a nice party."

"And Rashmi?"  She raises a brow. "You...got on with her?"

He would say so, yes.  Just the mention of her name sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.  "We--yeah, we had a nice, uh, conversation."  How many pregnant pauses can two people fit into a single exchange?

Of course, Vanessa is expecting, so maybe all of the pauses are pregnant.  He has to stifle a nervous chuckle.

"Mm," she says, though the tone conveys plenty of speculation and interest.

Mercifully, Newt is saved from any further questions about his evening as the object of their conversation arrives through the front door.  Newt hears her melodic accent thanking the servant who let her in, then Rashmi strides into the study.

She looks very different today, dressed in figure-hugging jeans and a shearling vest over a black ribbed turtleneck.  Newt only takes notice of this because everything except the vest follows the curves of her body as if they were drawn on.  She's pulled her hair back into its braid again, which Newt mourns after seeing its glory the night before.  Without her evening makeup, she's oddly fresh-faced.  Her smile is the same.

"You're up!" she exclaims, and Newt feels an unexpected wave of relief.  "Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"Not yet--"

"Do you mind if I steal him, Vanessa?"  Rashmi looks to the Gottleibs for permission.  Vanessa, in turn, glances at her husband.

Hermann, book forgotten, shrugs as he massages his wife's feet.  "We didn't have any plans today.  Are you going to that place on the coast?"

"I thought it would be a good idea."  She turns to Newt, now, takes one of his hands in both of hers.  "Will you come?"

He means to ask where they're going, or what she has planned, but in the moment, he can't manage to say anything but a shaky, "Y-yes?"

After that, he's bustled upstairs to get his leather coat, though Rashmi's approving gaze at his choice of black band t-shirt is filed away for future reference. The shirt does, after all, show off his arms.  His shoes, however, are deemed unfit for the excursion, and so he's given a pair of well-broken-in paddock boots to borrow.  Vanessa suggests a grey woollen scarf against the cold, British spring wind.

Before he leaves, one of the servants hands him a paper sack and a thermos.  "Tea and a pastry," she says, "for breakfast on the road."

Rashmi takes him by the hand.  "Ready?  Then let us go."

***

She drives with confidence bordering on carelessness, and Newt, who has stared down death in the maw of a Kaiju, Drifted without preparation or even proper equipment, and has himself driven at breakneck speeds on the Autobahn, tries very hard not to cling to the seat with white-knuckled fear.  A decade-old Mini Cooper is not the car he'd pictured for her, but she is utterly happy behind the wheel.  She steers with one hand and gestures wildly with the other.  Where last night she was sultry and serene, today she is animated and cheerful.

But she still won't tell him where they're going.

The rolling hills of Dorset whip past.  There are places where he can't see the road ahead because it's been cut deep into the hills that now rise on either side of them like a natural guard rail.  They'll turn, though, and suddenly the vista opens up before them.  Newt sees sheep, houses, people going about their lives. _I saved them,_ he thinks suddenly, _Hermann and I saved them._  He shakes off the image of what this place would have looked like if the Kaiju had made it this far.

It takes him a moment to realize that Rashmi is asking him a question.

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking himself a little.  "I totally zoned out and I didn't mean to.  What did you say?"

Her smile fades just a little, but it doesn't disappear, and for that, Newt is grateful.  "I asked if you have ever been to Kimmeridge."

"I haven't, but isn't that an archeological site?"

The smile strengthens once more, and though he likes this effusive side of her, he realizes he really, really enjoys her mysterious side even more.  "Even better," she says.  "It's a paleontologist's dream."

His interest is piqued at that.  Terror forgotten, he finishes off the pastry and takes a gulp of tea.  "How old?"

"Jurassic."  She turns off the road onto another one, seeming to know where they're going despite the disconcerting lack of signs.  The sea comes into view to their right.  "It's packed with ammonites, though they find occasional vertebrate fossils."  She says this so easily that he forgets for a moment that she's a model, not a colleague.  The road becomes gravel, and she finally, blessedly slows down.  They pull up next to a line of assorted cars to park.

When Newt emerges from the little car, he is at once thankful for Vanessa's insistence upon the scarf.  The sea air smells fresh and damp; its chill puts him in mind of the Hong Kong Shatterdome.  It hasn't been that long, after all.  It's still part of his recent memory.

Rashmi slips her arm through his.  Her presence is warm at his side as she guides him along a path beaten into existence by the passage of many feet.  Near the edge of the cliff, the path diverges; the well-traveled section turns left, but Rashmi chooses the right one instead.

"Where are you taking me?" he asks, grinning but intensely curious.

"There's an excavation site down this way," she replies, "and I know the scientists in charge of it."

"Oh really," he murmurs, half to himself as she lets go of his arm.  The path is steep, winding down the side of the cliff, only wide enough for one person at a time.  She takes the lead, which leaves Newt to travel in her wake yet again.

The tide is out, so the wide expanse of rocky beach lies open to the sky.  People dot the area, bent over the drying ground, amateur and professional fossil-hunters hoping to discover ancient treasure.  Newt feels the salt air drying on his cheeks; it clouds his glasses a little as they reach the bottom of the trail.

When they set foot on the ground, an imposing man with a clipboard and a megaphone comes to meet them.  "This area is--oh, Miss Patil.  I didn't expect you today."  His accent places him as South African to Newt's ears.  When he turns to Newt, his eyes widen.  "And you're--are you Doctor Newton Geiszler?"

The man's words cause a few heads to look up.  As Newt tries to form a reply without sounding full of himself--striking the right tone is _hard_ \--a woman hurries over to join them.  Newt, for a change, recognizes her.  "Madhuri?  I mean, Doctor Patil?"  He grins.  "It's been years!  We worked together at the Lima Shatterdome..."  Understanding dawns.  He looks at each woman in turn.  "Oh, wait--!"

Rashmi laughs, then embraces the other woman.  "Newt," she says in her particular way, "Dr. Patil is my mother."

The elder Patil extends a hand to Newt.  "Of course I remember you, Newton," she says; her voice has that same modulated musical tone that Rashmi's does.  "I was always impressed by your work, for someone so young.  It was no surprise that you would play such an important part in closing the Breach."  She glances at Rashmi, then back to him.  "But how do you know my daughter?"

He takes a breath. "We, uh, we have a mutual friend."

***

The women lapse into Hindi as they chatter on ahead of him.  Rashmi towers over her mother, who might even be shorter than Newt is.  But they share other traits, like the shape of their shoulders and the long black braids that swing in time with their steps.  He remembers Madhuri and her husband Harshad as good company, an excellent pairing of paleontology and xenobiology.  He also remembers that Harshad lost his life in a helicopter crash on the way back from a Kaiju cleanup site.

What Madhuri Patil is doing on the Kimmeridge coast, Newt still has no idea.  He trails behind the pair, hands in his pockets.  The cliffs rise high above them now as they walk along the base, picking their way across stagnant pools of seawater, treading on the fossilized graves of countless tiny sea creatures.

Rashmi pauses where the beach winds around a bend in the cliffside.  "Mother--do you mind terribly if I show him myself?" she says.

It takes a moment for her to consider, but in the end, Madhuri slowly nods.  Rashmi holds out her hand to Newt, who takes it.  She grins and escorts him around the turn.  The cliffs continue for several hundred meters, then slope downward until their tops are nearly at sea level.

But that is not what Newt notices.  He stares at the carefully-marked  grid on the cliff wall, at something impossible, something that simply should not exist.

_And yet,_ he thinks, _why shouldn't it?_

Beside him, Rashmi bounces with excitement.  "What do you think?"

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, then puts them back on.  There's no mistaking it; what he sees is real.  He looks at her again.

"Please tell me your mother's in press already," he breathes, not trusting his own words.

"Yes," she replies.  "Of course she is, or I wouldn't have been allowed to show you."

" _Geology_?"

" _Science_."

"Ah.  Even better."   _Science_ means more funding.  Madhuri will need it.  He looks back at the grid, at something that corroborates what he's already seen in the Drift, something that at once chills his blood and excites him beyond belief.

"What do you think?" Madhuri's voice is borne on the sea breeze, muffled by the sound of the waves.  She joins them, trailed by a man who glowers at everyone.

"This is why I brought you here," Rashmi murmurs very close to his ear.  He is half distracted by the warmth and the scent of her.

But the other half of him can't stop gazing up at the side of the cliff at the improbable, impossible, utterly perfect Kaiju fossil.

***


	5. Twilight

"This is incredible!" Newt exclaims. His heart pounds. He takes a few steps forward, though the fossil itself is too high off the ground to touch. It shouldn't present at such an angle, but this is where the cliff begins to fold downward. The basic configuration is similar to other large sauropods, but that skull is anything but normal. If Madhuri, a paleontologist, had been called in to excavate further, of course she would know what she had…

Newt is so enamored of the Kaiju fossil that he doesn't really hear the voices arguing in hushed tones behind him until now. Rashmi and the angry man are speaking in tight, clipped tones, muted by the wind and out of civility. What they're saying is not so civil, however. He catches a hissed "Sanjay!" from Madhuri, and suddenly he feels more than a little awkward. At least the name rings a bell—Madhuri's eldest, making him Rashmi's brother. His accent is more Brit than Indian, as if he's spent more time away from his homeland.

While Newt debates turning around, he hears Rashmi say, "I will be at the car. Tell Newt I shall wait for him until he's done talking with you." 

Time to act. "Rashmi—wait—" 

She shakes her head slightly. Her expression is unlike anything he's seen from her yet, anger and…not sadness, but resignation. "I mean it. Take your time. I brought you to see this, after all." She gives him a hard little smile, one she shares with her mother but not her brother, then shoves her hands in her vest pockets as she strides off down the beach and out of sight. 

"I am so sorry, Newton," says Madhuri after a moment. She's embarrassed, obviously annoyed with her son. "You shouldn't have seen any of that." 

"I'm not the problem." Sanjay snorts. "She has no business being here. She turned her back on a real career to play at being pretty instead." 

Newt has had enough. "Dude, that is way out of line."

Sanjay's shoulders stiffen, then he seems to brush it off. "With all due respect, Doctor Geiszler, we know why you're here."

"Sanjay!" says his mother sharply.

He ignores her. "Please, don't pretend my sister didn't sleep with you in order to convince you to lend your name to my mother's paper. It's the only logical explanation."

"Logical—what the actual hell, man?" Newt can't believe what he's hearing; anger takes over. "First off, I didn't know anything about this—" he gestures at the fossil, "—until literally ten minutes ago. Second, it's none of your beeswax what she does, being an adult woman and all. And third, where the hell do you get off assuming any of this?" The shift in Sanjay's expression from disdain to confusion to oh-shit-I-made-a-mistake is gratifying, but Newt is already worked up. The pitch of his voice goes higher when he gets angry, something that always bothers him, but right now he's too flabbergasted to care. "I mean, God, I just met Rashmi last night at a party and we hit it off. I'm pretty sure the mutual friend who set us up was not in on some elaborate scheme to involve me in Dr. Patil's research. Especially considering I've known your mother for years. I do have ethics, you know. So yeah, great, thanks for ruining the moment."

Finally, Sanjay seems out of his depth. He sputters, "But—she always—she said—"

" _Sanjay._ " This time, the single word from Madhuri is laced with steel and a promise. She sends him a warning look, and he shuts his mouth with a sharp click.

Newt takes a breath, turns to Madhuri. "Why don't we talk another time? I am dying to hear all about this discovery, like really, really dying to hear about it, but I'm gonna go check on Rashmi."

She seems relieved. "Thank you. I truly would like to talk with you further. K-scientists are few and far between, and this is the discovery of a lifetime."

"A dozen lifetimes, even," he murmurs, shaking her hand. He can't resist another glance at the cliff, at the beautiful bones. He has so many questions. Things he saw only in flashes now come back to the fore, things he had no way of answering until now. Finding the answers could consume him for months, years, even.

But first he needs to go after his date.

***

He finds her leaning a hip against her car, her arms crossed, looking out at the ocean as it crashes back in. The tide is returning, covering up the beach and all its treasures. Newt's a little breathless from the climb back up. Rashmi turns at the sound of his approaching footsteps. She sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear and now when she smiles, the sadness does come through at last. "I didn't expect you to come up so soon." A diplomatic pause, then, "My brother doesn't approve of models."

"Yeah, well, I don't approve of douchebags. Sorry, I know he's your brother and all, but seriously."

She laughs in spite of herself. "Still, I thought you'd want to study the dig some more. I don't mind, Newt."

"I can talk to your mom anytime," he insists, though of course the discovery is already turning itself over and around in the back of his mind. "But…I'm out with you right now." He leans on the car beside her, nudges her. "Hey, I have an idea. Let's go get something to eat. I don't know about you, but tea and a pastry aren't enough to keep me going all day."

Rashmi peers down at him as if she can sense his curiosity, his desire to run right back down the cliff to look at the Kaiju again, to jump up and down with Madhuri Patil and talk on and on and on about _just how cool are Kaiju? I KNOW RIGHT?_ He tries to exude calm, interest in something other than the find of the year, or the decade, or even the millenium down there.

"All right," she says at last, "food is a good idea. I know a spot in town. Get in."

He's sure to buckle his seat belt this time, but when she slides into the driver's seat, instead of turning the key, she leans across the divide to catch him off-guard with a brief, deep, fiery kiss. She pulls away just as Newt recovers from surprise, just when he's about to respond properly. She seems to do this often, always leaving him wanting more. He wonders if he shouldn't have suggested they go back to the Gottleibs' manor instead, where they could get lost in the big house and have some peace and privacy to do whatever. No asshole brothers, no preoccupied friends, no one but them.

Rashmi smiles, a little of her accustomed self showing through again. She gives him a wink and starts the car.

"Hold on," she says, "We will be there in no time."

***

She gets a call halfway through lunch—a last minute photo shoot in London, and could she come at once? If she leaves Kimmeridge now, she could be there within three hours, just in time for the shoot. She hesitates, glances at Newt. He can see she's about to turn them down.

He interrupts her. "You'd have to go back to Hermann's anyway, right? So just drop me off there. I'll manage; you get your model on."

"Are you certain?" She looks doubtful. "I feel terrible, after dragging you out here."

"It's okay. I haven't visited with Hermann much anyway." He puts on a smile. "This will give me the chance."

"All right." She speaks into the phone, relaying the message and finishing with a bright, "See you soon!" Newt mentally kicks himself for being a pushover, but it's too late to take back the words now. They pay for the food and pile back into the car, and then they're on the road again, driving at her breakneck pace.

The windows are down as they barrel along the road, pulling in the wind and making conversation difficult. Newt wants to talk about what happened but first he needs to find the right words to start the conversation without seeming like he's prying. It's also hard to think because the image of the Kaiju fossil has burned itself into his brain. The questions still bubble up inside him, disrupting his train of thought.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks suddenly. It makes him jump.

"What—oh, uh, I was just…"

"The fossil, right?" Her eyes are on the road but she steals glances at him. "It's so impressive, isn't it? Surrounded by the floodlights and the equipment."

"Yes—I mean, no, I mean, well, yes, I was thinking about it, but that's not—" He takes a breath, tries again. The wind is very loud in his ears and he has to raise his voice to be heard. "What's up with your brother?"

She can't hide the grimace that tugs at her lips, though she tries. A few seconds tick by before she answers. "You have to understand," she says at last, "I'm the youngest of four. Sanjay and my eldest sister Pratibha followed my mother's field. Three paleontologists in one family—it was a nightmare when they were all trying to live together and not share data. My other sister Sumati is an astrophysicist." She swerves around a cyclist and goes on after the car stabilizes. "So by the time I was accepted at MIT, it was simply a matter of course that I would choose a complementary field."

"You were at MIT?" he asks, surprised.

Her grin is short-lived but bright. "I was in your Experimental Microbial Genetics class." She sighs. "The first class you ever taught."

"Oh my God." Newt remembers that class, but he doesn't remember any glamazons. "You're kidding."

She laughs. "Not at all. In fact, it was because of your class that I stayed in college as long as I did." She signals for the turn down the long, empty road that leads to the Gottleibs' manor. Her speed is slower now, as if she feels the stately path requires a bit more decorum than the common street, though still faster than it should be around the turns. "I took two classes with you, actually; the other one was Intro to Biology."

"That doesn't make sense," he says, confused. "Why would you be taking both of those in the same semester? If you were in EMG then you'd already have taken Intro to Bio—"

"The year before," she supplies. "Which is why it was so nice to watch the cute professor instead of having to pay attention."

Oh.

_Oh._

The car's tires crunch on gravel as they make the last turn into the circular drive in front of the manor. "That same semester, I answered a model casting call on a whim with some friends. It turned out that my group was being scouted by an agency from New York City. They loved me. A week later, they offered me a contract, and I took it." She shrugs as she puts the car into park.

Newt is still trying to wrap his head around all this, so he focuses on his original question. "So I don't see why your brother has an issue about it now. That was almost ten years ago."

She shakes her head. "It wasn't that I decided to model. It's that I accepted the contract without talking to my family. I dropped out of school entirely and didn't go back for the Spring. I just let it go, scholarship and all. My parents were devastated but they ultimately came around. Sanjay never did."

"Still…ten years, Rashmi. That's a long time to hold a grudge. And what he said—"

"Newt." She puts a hand on his arm, fixes him with her dark gaze. The sun has started to descend, leaving this side of the house in false twilight. "You should know that what he said wasn't without precedent." She does not elaborate, and because of this, he realizes that she's telling the truth.

He is not positive how he feels about this. On the one hand, ethics. On the other…adult woman, et cetera. Who is he to judge? "Well, that's…that's your business. I mean, stuff happens, right? It's not like you intended anything wrong."

She still says nothing, though her eyes flick away. Newt's heart drops. It falls further when she looks back at him. Her pretty face is solemn. "My only excuse is that I was much younger than I am now, and that I was a bit drunk with the power I held over men. Or thought I did." Her eyes are steady on his now. "I slept with my brother's biggest rival and 'accidentally' let slip the thesis of the paper Sanjay was writing at the time. You can guess who went to press first."

Newt is horrified. He doesn't want to believe Rashmi would do such a thing, because up until now she's been beautiful, intelligent, charming. Perfect. What is he supposed to say? 'That's okay' is totally not an option. What she did was abuse her power and, if her brother's response today was any indication, probably set back his career by months or even years. Still, she obviously understands what she did, and she is being frank with him.

And yet, he's not sure what he thinks anymore.

Rashmi blinks, withdraws a little. "Now you know," she says quietly, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel. She fans them, ostensibly studying the expensive deep red manicure. "That's why I don't fight him."

"Rashmi—"

"And I have a shoot to get ready for," she interrupts, brightly. Too brightly. "I'd better get my things before it gets too late to drive to the city." She shoulders the door open and nearly leaps from the car. Her discarded seat belt clatters against the frame. She's already inside the house and at the stairs when Newt catches up to her, calling after her from the bottom of the staircase.

"Just tell me one thing," he says, craning his neck to look up at her. The stairs make her seem impossibly tall, or make him feel impossibly tiny. She's silhouetted against the window at the landing above, through which the afternoon sun streams. He clears his throat, raw from the cold and from talking a little too loudly over the wind. "Just tell me. If you could go back…if you could change it…would you—"

"It doesn't matter," she says quietly, firmly. "It's a useless question. Would I do it now? Of course not. There are other ways to get back at someone than that. But if you're asking if I'd stop myself, knowing how he would treat me in response…then no." She moves out of his reach, higher into the slanting light that hides her expression. "I must go, Newt. I am sorry."

He doesn't call after her. Instead he stands there, dazed, until he hears her returning footsteps. Then he ducks into the study to avoid her, even as he curses himself for being a coward. The front door opens and closes; the now-familiar buzz of the Mini's engine starts up, then fades as she drives away.

***


	6. Floodlight

He doesn't want to admit that he's moping but he is. The weather turns to match his mood, greyer and gloomier and darker as the sun goes behind the trees.

Hermann appears to find Newt pretending to read. He makes a little huffing sound. It reminds Newt of their days sharing a lab at the end of the Kaiju war, and yet again, the memory makes him feel at home.  Like he's with family.

"I highly doubt you're really reading that," Hermann says archly. Newt takes offense.

"Dude, you forget you're talking to someone with six PhDs, right?" He replies just as smugly.

Hermann snorts. "I wasn't aware that your degrees conferred the skill of reading upside down in a language I know you don't speak." He plucks the book from Newt's fingers and turns it right-side up. A glance at the cover informs Newt that he's been looking at a collection of Korean poetry. Of course. The one East Asian language he hasn't mastered yet. Newt sighs, gives up, closes the book. Hermann settles into his chair. "Right. Out with it."

Newt considers the option of dissembling, but really, he can't lie to Hermann. Not since their Drift, not since they've been inside each other's heads. He dangles the book loosely between his knees, leaning forward. "I went to Kimmeridge today. You knew what I would see there."

"Of course. It's been in the news, haven't you been paying attention? She's being published in Science, for goodness' sake. At least you must have heard about it there."

"Nah." He makes a face. "I've been avoiding it."

Hermann is unimpressed. "The news?"

"No," says Newt, meeting his gaze evenly, "The world."

They stare at each other for a long time, then Hermann snorts again and leans over to take the book from Newt. It falls open to a certain page, which Newt can see is marked by a pressed leaf. Hermann's finger touches a passage as he reads aloud, " _'We all long to be something/You, to me, and I, to you, long to become a gaze that won't be forgotten.'_ " He glances up again. "Something like that?"

Newt feels a rush of gratitude for his friend. "Something like that."

"Then heed my advice," says Hermann, in his terribly posh accent, "Get back into the world. You've floated around for the past few months and honestly, people are starting to ask me if you're all right. I know for a fact that MIT has requested you return there to teach in the autumn. They've sent me the same offer, though I had to turn them down. I'm teaching at Oxford instead—much more my speed, I think. So are you?" He looks over the tops of his glasses as he closes the book, adds more gently, "All right?"

It takes a long moment before Newt can answer properly. "I don't know."

Hermann sighs. "You know you can stay here as long as you like, but…Newton, I do wish you'd pick a direction. Find something that gives your life meaning again. You're supposed to be the rockstar, but you've done nothing but hide ever since the war ended."

"What's left, though?" asks Newt with a petulant air. "You still have your numbers. You can go into any field you want. But my life's work is gone, Herm. Kaput. Pretty soon all my specimens will dry up. The greatest focus of my study for the past I-don't-know-how-many years is officially extinct. I'm stuck with the slim pickings of black-market Kaiju parts dealers like Chau." He frowns. "And you know, no one cares. They don't want to learn more about it. They want to forget the Kaiju ever existed, move on with their lives."

"The Kaiju may be gone but they are certainly still very relevant. Not to mention that you are the leading expert in the world on the horrible creatures." Hermann hesitates, then adds, "And don't bother suggesting that I go to Stockholm without you. The prize is being awarded to me but we worked together and I'm dashed if I'll take all your glory. It would be embarrassing to say the least."

"How did you know I was gonna say—" Newt stops himself. He gives a wry grin. "Man. Does this mean I can't keep secrets from you anymore?"

"It most certainly does." It's Hermann's turn to smile. His is tinged with a curl of superiority. "The more you try to hide it, the more it stands out. But God's teeth, your brain is a mess. It's a wonder I can find anything at all."

"Yeah, well, yours looks like an Ikea showroom. Everything packed into neat little boxen." He dodges a half-hearted jab of the cane. Hermann harrumphs but there's no real animosity behind it. Newt reclines on the couch. Even if their conversations lack the bite they once had, trading mild insults with Hermann works better than any antidepressant ever has. And it has the bonus of sharpening his wit rather than dulling it. Newt vastly prefers the sharp edge.

A flash of concern crosses Herman's narrow face. "Good God, you're not upset about this, are you?"

"Upset…? OH! The prize. No, dude, I already told you. You earned it. It was your math that saved the world."

"Says the man who built a PONS out of garbage and Drifted with a Kaiju brain."

"You did it with me," Newt points out. They both fall silent. This is something they don't normally talk about. The world knows they saved it but the details have been obscured by 'everything happened so fast at the time'. The Shatterdome team knows, of course. Vanessa knows, the butler knows, but these are people whom Hermann trusts. Newt hasn't told anyone on his end, because no one who cares would understand. He swallows. "Seriously, the Nobel is one hundred percent yours. I'm already overwhelmed with this whole King William gala thing. But fine, fine, I'll go with you. Someone's gotta keep an eye on you when your wife can't be there."

Hermann's smile fades. "She's disappointed, but we talked about it. The baby will simply be too young to fly. At least she can attend with us tomorrow." He sighs, stretches out his bad leg, looks around as if he's suddenly noticed something. "Speaking of dates to and accompaniment, where did Rashmi go?"

"Um. London. She had a call for a modeling job."

His friend's sharply raised brow asks the question before Hermann says the words aloud. "Something the matter? I thought you two spent the day together, didn't you?"

"Yeah, no, it was great. We had a really…great time. She's really something."

"'Really great'? 'Really something'? You couldn't keep your eyes off her. She's got a biology background, and she even took you to see a Kaiju fossil. From what I understand, the two of you were thick as thieves last night. So I'm assuming either you drove her mad with your incessant prattle about pituitary glands writ large—" Hermann holds up a finger to forestall Newt's attempt at interruption, "—or you met her brother at the site."

Newt closes his mouth and nods. He feels oddly left out. " _You_ know about them?"

"Honestly, Newton," says Hermann, "Everyone knows. It was the scandal of the year when it came to light." He sighs and shakes his head as he picks up the book he's been working on. "Do try to keep up with the times."

***

That night, Newt lies spread-eagled on the bed in a pair of striped pajama bottoms, studying the rosette of fabric above him where the canopy gathers in thick pleats. He tries to puzzle out the construction of the curtain, the geometry of fabric and threads, the limitations of folding and shaping a flat plane into something dimensional. Math is usually Hermann's _oeuvre_ but since the Drift, Newt finds strange solace in numbers. He hasn't said a word about it to Hermann, though he wonders if his friend dreams about silicon-based vascular systems and alien cellular biology.

_Oh, it's a tube. A piece of fabric the length of the perimeter of the canopy, sewn into a tube and secured around the frame._

Someone has changed the sheets and they no longer smell of jasmine. He only catches the unadorned scent of clean linen. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he tries to recall the morning. The stark shadows cast by the fossil in the floodlights surrounding the dig now stick out in his memory like an artist's outline, sharp and black around every curve of petrified bone.

_Once the perimeter is secured, the inner edge is gathered into the center, trimmed, and covered to hide the ends. The folds are arranged in a pleasing manner and equalized to form even rays from center to edge._

Hermann's right, of course. He always was the grownup of the K-Science division, the guy who had his shit together, and his advice today is almost avuncular in its straightforward common sense. It's true, Newt has been hiding from the world. Newt the rockstar, Newt the fearless, Newt the guy who faced down two Kaiju and lived to tell the tale.

_The width of the cloth must be just over half the length of the bed. The edges of the fabric at the widest point must meet, at the very least, if not overlap._

He aches because he knows there is absolutely no way he can join the fossil project, because just the whiff of scandal could affect everyone's careers. Not his—like it or not, he's a world hero—but Madhuri's and Sanjay's, certainly. Maybe even Rashmi's modeling career, though don't fashion people live and breathe scandal? But no, the fossil excavation and study has to belong to the Patils alone. No matter how much his fingers itch to touch the bones, to wield a hammer and chisel, he has to remain aloof of the project until it's opened to the scientific community at large. He kind of wishes Rashmi hadn't told him about what she'd done, because then he'd at least have plausible deniability to fall back on.

Never mind that he'd be willing to go back and get a seventh PhD, maybe in Vertebrate Paleontology, if that was what it took to join.

Come to think of it, maybe he'll still do it just for ha-has.

_Outer curtains are full-width panels of ornate fabric lined with the same fabric as the inner canopy, hung around the edge on a rod with rings for easy movement and cleaning. The lining creates an illusion of continuity from the point of view of the bed's occupant. Or occupants._

With the events of the day, Newt has almost succeeded in forgetting that by this time tomorrow, he'll have met the King and Queen of England. He will have been photographed a thousand times. He will likely have had champagne, and gorgeously artistic canapes, and he will have mingled awkwardly among people much taller and more elegant and less intelligent than he. He will make the three-hour drive back here with the Gottleibs, a third wheel to their bicycle built for two.

He snorts aloud at that. The metaphor is lame by even the standards of his stream of consciousness. But then the amusement subsides, and the room grows very quiet once more.

_The decorative fabric bunting at the foot of the canopy is ingeniously made up of three separate, overlapped semicircles. The pocket for the rod is created around the curved edge so that when the rod is inserted, the straight edge—the diameter of the circle—appears curved and perfectly draped as a result._

"So maybe it's time to think of something new," he murmurs, partly to hear a voice and partly to commit the idea to something more than thought. He's hit the pinnacle of his life's work, so the next obvious step is to decide what he's going to do afterward. Will he give up and slide into silent obscurity or explode back onto the scene amid a shower of fireworks and the wail of electric guitars?

The answer is obvious.

Pyrotechnics and Stratocasters it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line of poetry Hermann reads comes from "The Flower" by Kim Chun-soo (1922-2004).


End file.
